


Goodbye, Goodbye

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen, Sherlolly-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4572909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes had to deal with a loss and putting a brave face as he did so. And wishing he could have said what he wanted to say when he had the chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye, Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> I was sad. Bad days made me write crazy things...
> 
> And this is not Sherlolly-centric, implied only...

His father had always seemed invincible. At least, to Sherlock, Siger Holmes was one of those men that, if the universe would allow it, could live forever. It was foolish, the idea of any man living for eternity. There was no such thing. And he knew that. Sherlock Holmes knew that. Everybody will die when their time come for them. None can ever bargain with death, even for one more second. That was how it always was and it would never change.

And yet, he wished for it in his heart and he felt regretful. He regretted his constant chase of the next high had left him neglecting the man who had loved him all his life. The man who taught him to read, the man who brought Redbeard home and the man, Sherlock Holmes would never admit aloud, but, respected.

He should have stayed longer, the last week before his father’s death, they were summoned home. It was nothing in particular, it was one of those things that occur every now and then, and he and Mycroft had obliged by showing up and spending the weekend. They should have stayed longer, really. But, his father had looked as healthy and cheerful as always. It was foolish to think otherwise would happen.

Yet, it did. Siger William Holmes died. Violet Holmes’ husband died. Mycroft Holmes’ father died. Sherlock Holmes’ father died. He died and Sherlock found himself completely numb.

He dealt with death ever so often in his line of work that he should have been alright with it. And his father was old; he was bound to die eventually. Still, Sherlock could not accept it. His sensible side reasoned, supposed it was how people felt when they lost a love one. Sherlock, did, love (love, will always love, never ‘loved’ because that kind of love would never expire even after the death of the person you love) his father. Cold as he was to his parents, they were the very few people that had a place in both his heart and mind. There was an entire wing devoted to his parents; the way they laughed, how they sneak around or their silly excuses. 

Despite his harrowing thoughts, Sherlock held it together while Mycroft was more pleasant than he ought to be. Their mother; Violet, well, for a woman who had just lost her sweetheart, she was doing quite alright. She would smile and converse with people through the wake. She was pleasant, Violet Holmes was always pleasant. Sherlock had kept an eye on his dear mother, worrying that she would collapse.

“Do you need me to stay?” A soft voice prompted him to turn.

His eyes, for the first time since morning laid on the petite woman dressed in black. She had been with him the entire time, with the entire family really. She had greeted people, put things together and stayed by each and every one of them. She was his support and he never really thought that he would need her that way again,

He cleared his throat, he shouldn’t ask, but, “Would you?”

Her had was soft on his cheek, stroking it lightly, “Of course,” She said before tiptoeing to plant a chaste kiss on it.

He closed his eyes, savouring her touch. He really shouldn’t ask more of her, she was just his pathologist, his friend. Even John and Mary didn’t know why he was away, he didn’t tell them. He told her, just her.

“I’ll go and see if your mum needs anything, okay,” She said to him, her voice was calm, like a soft breeze.

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

She didn’t have to be there, yet, she was. And she was talking with his family members as if they were her own. She even put his mother at ease by just being close. She put him at ease. He remembered just a couple of weeks ago how his father spoke fondly of her.

\--

“That friend of yours, Molly, how is she?” Siger asked as he sipped his tea.

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows together, “Fine, I imagine,”

“Do you think she’d mind accompanying your mother and me to see a play next time we’re in the city?” Siger asked, “It’s just that she’s a lovely girl, a far better companion that you or your brother,”

“It is probably best to ask Molly Hooper herself, father,” He replied curtly.

“Well yes, I suppose I’ll ring her later, don’t want to disturb her too early on her day off,” The elder man replied with a smile.

Sherlock was surprised. He didn’t realize how close his parents were with Molly that they knew her schedule. Then again, she probably spoke to them more than he and Mycroft put together. She was always too kind to turn anyone down, especially not a couple of elders.

\--

He spent the day shaking hands and making small conversation. He shook hands with his second cousin, his father’s old army buddy and even a former student when his father used to teach at the university. Siger Holmes had touched a lot of life and it showed. He knew that people are supposed to say nice things about the deceased, but, he couldn’t detect a lie when people were praising his father. And there was a story about how his father had wooed his mother, he didn’t even know that.

\--

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Violet Holmes leaned into her son.

Sherlock turned his head slightly to look at his mother, “I believe I should be the one asking you that question,”

A chuckle emitted from Violet’s mouth, followed by a soft sigh, “Well, we are not exactly what people would call ‘normal’, are we?” 

“I suppose not,” He agreed, “But, are you alright, Mummy?”

He noted the small change in her expression. He couldn’t quite name what it was, but, he knew it was deeply intertwined with sadness. 

“The love of my life died, I believe alright is not the state I am in right now,” She answered, patting Sherlock’s arm as she did. 

A distant relative interrupted the mother-son conversation, Violet smiled pleasantly as she had all day and Sherlock managed not to look irritated. A few quick exchanges of words and a hasty goodbye later, they were standing side by side in a room of people again. From where they stood, Sherlock could see Molly refilling food trays and speaking to a couple of his father’s old colleague.

“He liked her, you know,” Violet spoke again as she noted where Sherlock’s gaze had laid, “Always have, strange sense of humour, but your father liked her,”

He nodded, “I know,”

\--

Mycroft had remained composed, better than him well into the evening. Yet, Sherlock could tell that the laugh and smiles where just a show. He wondered every single time he caught a glimpse of his brother’s face if Mycroft was mourning and then he realized, of course.

They didn’t stop to chat though. Just a few exchange of looks every now and then, letting the other know they’re there. It was an understanding, they were both distraught, but, tomorrow life would resume as it would even when the world would be short of one Siger Holmes.

\--

He sat on the swing that his father built with his own hand. The old thing was still sturdy even after years passed. Clearly his parents had maintained it. He remembered playing pirates and swinging from it when he was just a child. It felt like a lifetime ago and it was the fondest memory he had of the house. It was just their vacation home when he was younger; it wasn’t until both he and his brother had finished University that his parents moved there from their main house which Mycroft live in now.

“Hey,” A greeting.

He looked up, finding the same woman who had been with him all day standing near. He exhaled, moving a little, patting the space he had left, asking the woman to join him.

She did, taking as little space as usual. She always looked as if she didn’t want to impose on him. And that she tried her hardest not to trouble him, even going as far as more than accommodating him and his every whim. If only she ever realize that he had tried his hardest not to ruffle her own life and schedule for the past couple of years since he returned.

“Nearly everyone had left, your Aunt Matilda is staying over though,” She told him.

And he started to push the swing in motion with his feet, she helped.

“Yes, I suppose Mummy would like her to stay,” He nodded, looking up at the dark sky.

He didn’t recall noticing a sunset and yet it was already night time. It felt like hours of his life just breezed through, leaving empty holes in his mind.

She smiled, “How are you holding up?”

He knew she was going to ask him the question; he was surprised how she managed not to ask him just that question all day. Though, he realized soon enough, she knew, she just wanted him to admit it to himself and not be afraid of the wave of emotion that was surging through his body.

“My father is dead,” He said, barely a whisper, “My father is dead, Molly Hooper,”

He turned to look at her, the sincerity in her eyes nearly knocked him over.

“I know,” She said calmly, scooting closer to him.

He was glad she did.

“He died, my father died,” He mumbled and felt a cold tear trickle down his cheek. He hadn’t cried, not one tear since he found out about his father’s death. He supposed, he was processing the fact, trying to accept it in his heart what his mind had already make peace with. 

“I know,” She repeated, nodding this time, looping her arms around him and pulling him to her.

Comforting him like a mother would to a child, but, not quite. She was like a companion to him, a constant, someone who he could always count on, and someone who he could be vulnerable around and not worry about how bad it would look.

And that was all it took, he buried his face at the crook of her neck and sobbed, “He died, my father is gone, Molly,”

People always assumed he didn’t have a heart, assumed that he didn’t feel a thing because he refused to wear his heart on his sleeve. He didn’t care; he didn’t have to show them his heart. They didn’t matter, but, he wished that he could have told his father he really did love the old man. And if there was anything good about him, it came from his parents. They, his father most importantly, taught him how to be a better man and in that regard, Sherlock had tried his hardest not to disappoint. He can only hope he had made his father proud.


End file.
